


Neville/Draco drabbles & ficlets

by Lokifan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: See title :)





	1. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco oversees the Carrows’ detentions in his seventh year. Content: implied torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the neville100 prompt, "detention".

Amycus finally dropped his wand. Neville stopped twitching but his ragged breathing seeped relentlessly into Draco’s ears.

“I must see Snape. Draco, you’ll keep an eye on this reprobate, won’t you?”

“Yes sir.” Draco’s voice was barely a breath but Carrow didn’t seem to notice as he bustled out.

Draco dropped to his knees beside Neville and put a hand on his shoulder. Neville groaned and Draco flinched back. “I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t be sorry.

“Just – put your hand back. Body heat helps. And stay with me.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“Then it’ll be enough.” And Draco felt him relax.


	2. Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville and Draco on a summer night. Also, how elemental opposites make good lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the neville100 prompt, "sky".

Neville is an earthy type. Not just that he’s a little bit common for a pureblood, since his grandmother never taught him rarefied tastes. He's also down-to-earth, sensible, and so tied to the ground he feels he was born with soil between his fingers. He’s never craved Gryffindor fire, or the cool ease of swimming; when he was little he'd escape his grandmother for the garden and scraping soil about with a stick, and nothing’s changed.

Draco used to escape his parents’ parties via a broomstick. Once, a little drunk, Draco had explained how at the age of seven he'd crash-landed his broomstick on the buffet table at a garden party and been entirely swallowed by tiramisu.

Apparently his father had laughed helplessly, and his mother had helped little Draco out of the pile of pudding. It is this story that has made it impossible for Neville to hate Draco's parents, though it's not why Neville did as they asked at the trials.

Now he and Draco are old enough to be allowed a more permanent retreat: this little cottage where Neville potters in the garden, privacy wards holding out the journalists. Tonight he’s watering flowers, and helping the raspberries along: Draco likes tart berries that sting the mouth.

Every so often Neville glances up into the fading summer light, to see the shape of Draco, swooping like a swallow, wheeling and gliding and loop-the-looping. Every so often a whoop reaches Neville through the clear twilight air.

He smiles, watching Draco move effortlessly through the sky, and silently promises him again that he’ll never see Azkaban.

He turns back to weeding the Ophelia's Rosemary. A few minutes later, there's a brush of air and the thump of Draco’s boots hitting the ground. He turns and smiles, his stomach tightening at the sight of his windswept Draco suddenly so close, with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Draco grins sunnily at him. Then Draco drops his broomstick, reaching for Neville instead.

~*~

Neville’s on his back in the dry earth, dust coating his skin; he wriggles into it comfortably as Draco sinks down onto his cock. For a moment Neville feels the air sucked from his lungs by Draco's fae-bright eyes and long body, and then Draco smiles and breath returns in a rush.

Draco rides him as twilight passes into true night. Neville stares up at him, at the sky around his pale shoulders, at his head thrown back and the whole long line of his body in the dark air, and feels a rush of love that leaves him lightheaded.

Because his blunt hands on Draco’s hips are welcomed with soft moans. Draco doesn't react to the smudge of soil on his chest Neville's fingers leave, only the pinching of his nipples and stroking of his stomach.

When Draco kisses him, hot breath shared from lip to lip, Neville comes. He feels Draco fall with him: like flying through endless air, until they return to themselves and are cuddling on the grass.


	3. The Socratic Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is Neville’s first and best student. Neville believes in the Socratic method.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the neville100 prompt, "lecture".

In October, one of the cautious conversations shared in the Eighth Year common room turned to sex, probably because it was something everyone there had an interest in. Draco wondered what to say. He couldn’t tell them he was a virgin, they’d laugh; and he certainly couldn’t tell them why, because that meant bringing up Fenrir Greyback.

All things considered, when Longbottom blushed and stammered, his dark eyes embarrassed, and mumbled out how many lovers he’d had, Draco should have been infuriated.

But he eyed Longbottom’s large, sensitive hands and wide mouth and strong jaw and had quite another reaction.

~*~

It only took him three weeks to get Longbottom into bed. He’d expected it to take longer, actually; but Neville had turned around in the middle of tutoring Draco in DADA and being subtly seduced, and said, “can I kiss you?” The Room of Requirement was very obliging.

Not half so obliging as Neville: he’d kissed Draco thoroughly, leaving him wheezing and flushed, and found hotspots Draco hadn’t known. Draco opened his thighs easily – Neville would take care of him, it was all right – but couldn’t hold back one small, anxious sound.

Neville was gentle and didn’t make him explain.

~*~

“I want to be a teacher, you know,” Longbottom said once, when they were curled sweatily together in Greenhouse Three. He’d been talkative after sex, recently; Draco thought he was trying to build a connection.

Because his heart still recoiled inside him at the risk, he smiled lazily. “Oh, Professor. I do best with hands-on teaching.” He straddled Neville, returning his smile.

Neville’s hands bracketed his hips. “Well, I don’t like to lecture, you know. I prefer the Socratic method...”

“Oh yes?”

“It involves you making suggestions.” His hand stroked teasingly over Draco’s hardening cock, drawing a gasp. “What next?”

~*~

Neville stroked a crotchety teething violet, barely able to believe it. He was a teacher – and the greenhouses were his domain at last.

“Oh, Professor.”

Neville looked up at the drawling voice, feeling his face light up. Draco was leaning against the door wearing respectable black robes and a filthy grin. “There you are.”

Draco came into his arms, and Neville took swift advantage: Draco liked it when his ever-so-polite partner groped him. Draco wriggled pleasantly against his wandering hands, and let Neville manoeuvre him into perching on a wooden table, Neville standing between his legs.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

~*~

“Your first and best student,” Draco said.

“Absolutely the best. You had an excellent attitude,” Neville said, before biting Draco’s tender earlobe. Draco’s chuckle was broken by a gasp. Neville pulled his collar aside, and began sucking a new lovebite into bloom; Draco clutched his shoulders.

“You’re the only teacher who’s ever said that.”

“I should hope so.”

“Snape was scared of Mother, you see.”

Neville swatted his arse, laughing, and felt Draco’s cock jump. “Oh, are we going for the clichés tonight?”

“They’re clichés for a reason,” said Draco, and produced a cane. “And I’ve been ever so bad.”


	4. Better Than Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco doesn’t want a four-leafed clover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for neville100's prompt, "clover".

Neville found Draco sulking behind Greenhouse Three.

Best to keep Hogwarts’ motto in mind at these moments. “Draco?”

“Go away!”

Instead, Neville held a four-leafed clover in front of Draco’s face. “Look. For luck!”

“ _Luck_?” Draco spun to face him. “Your stupid housemates turned me _green_! I don’t want a bloody clover!”

Neville produced an orchid, and grinned as Draco’s green face softened. “Something - ”

“Classy,” Draco said, taking it.

“Rare, and beautiful. Like you.”

He blushed so hard he thought he might set the greenhouse on fire; but Draco looked like his world as already alight.


	5. Interesting Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eighth-years are sharing confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the neville100 prompt, "wholesome".

When it was Draco’s turn, the circle went quiet. Sharing confessions as a bonding exercise had been Granger’s idea. So far they’d been low-key: cheating on a test, nicking someone’s Gobstones, a crush on Trelawney. Draco had more baggage.

“I like men,” Draco said. The expected gasps didn’t come, and Draco felt tension release in his chest that none of the other eighth-years looked disgusted.

They didn’t even look surprised.

Draco couldn’t stop himself glancing at Neville, to see if he’d noticed Draco being brave. Neville smiled at him, and Draco looked away to disguise how his face lit up.

~*~

“What kind of men?” Millicent asked, waving a bottle of Firewhiskey at him.

“Er. Bad ones,” Draco said, his voice climbing an octave. “I can’t be doing with wholesome types who want to look after you. I like them with dark pasts and interesting scars.”

Potter looked as if he was holding back a sarcastic comment. Pansy was giggling into Greg’s shoulder. And Neville -- Neville was putting an arm around him.

“What a coincidence,” he said, his mouth close to Draco’s, and Draco couldn’t smell alcohol on him, how like him to not even need Dutch courage. “Me too.”


End file.
